


Tim Tams

by Nashira



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-01
Updated: 2011-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 08:02:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nashira/pseuds/Nashira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times they're together again. (Modern AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tim Tams

**Author's Note:**

> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tim_Tam - Tim Tams for the uninitiated. You poor souls. For McMorgans on Tumblr. Aussie fans love. :-*

1\. They run into each other on an unused beach in Australia, as odd as it is. Morgana is laying in the sand, too close to the waves that would surely whisk her away if only she gave it the time too. He watches her, mouth agape, disbelieving she is real until she rolls over and looks at him, smile falling.

‘Emrys.’ she mutters and he hears it just the same. That name is a curse, it separated him from all of the goodness he may have ever had.

‘Morgana, you look... beautiful.’ she did, even with the sand and salt in her dark brown hair and the white dress covered in dirt and mud and all sorts of other things that belong to the sea. She belonged to the sea. Morgana laughs, the amusement glinting in her eyes that were once feverish with hate, grief, love lost. He asks her for tea, at his hotel. After making him wait half an hour in silence as she bathed in the fading sun, she agrees. He smiles a little.

 

2\. She will not touch anything he makes her, so she makes the tea herself, whispering conspiratorially to one of the hotels teaspoons and a mug. If she’s putting a spell on it, he can’t really bring himself to blame her though he hopes she’s not and he doesn’t try to stop her. Morgana’s hair is tied up in a messy bun and her dress has changed to something long and blue, but almost transparent in the right light. He can’t help but stare at her and think _why did I never try?_ that time he took her to the druids hardly counted.

She produces a packet of chocolate biscuits seemingly out of thin air and hands them to him. ‘A girl at the store told me I had best try them, and they were chocolate... so.’ she shrugs and offers him the barest of smiles. The first real one he had seen from her in over a thousand years. She sits across from him at the table and hands him his tea. They eat in silence, examining the mere presence of the other like it was more rare than a unicorn and looking away whenever the other notices. They don’t touch. Barely dare to breathe. But neither flees or quarrels, for once, and later that night Morgana falls asleep in the arm chair watching some Elizabethan movie and eating the rest of the tim tams together while she had been complaining about the accuracy of it only five minutes before. He wraps her in his blanket.

 

3\. There is no sign of her in the morning. He didn’t expect her to be there really. He searches, aches to say _I’m sorry, so sorry_ whisper it against her skin. Her broken heart. Her shattered trust. He doesn’t catch sign of her for two years, but then she turns up in December, by his house in Wales. Snowflakes alight on her eyelashes and she stands in the cold wrapped into a cloak. Not a coat. But a proper, woollen cloak, rabbit fur around her neck. It is just like one she had had all those years ago before it all went so utterly wrong. She is still and silent, like a Greek statue of a Goddess. Refined.

She has a packet of tim tams in her outstretched hand, and gods help him, she smiles. They have hot chocolate and she demonstrates how some girl she had apparently wandered around Australia two years ago with had shown her to eat her tim tams, as if they weren’t good enough as they were. Delicately she bites away the corners of her biscuit before dipping the rich chocolate treat into the even richer hot chocolate she had made to attempt to drink the chocolate through it, and eat it before it melted into the drink. it almost worked, but her lips were covered in chocolate. Merlin leaned over, to offer her a serviette... but ended up pressing a kiss to her lips as she froze, in shock, then bit his lip sharply. He moved to leave her be, but then his lips were crushed against hers again and her voice raged in his mind. ‘ _Why was I never good enough for you to try, Merlin?’_ She had been so desperately alone. If he had tried. Really tried. She had told him her secrets and what had it gotten her? the briefest chance at freedom before she was once more caged? ‘ _You told strangers, but not me. Mordred knew. But not me. There was a time when...’_ when his secret would have been perfectly safe with her. She risked her life for his village and she had barely known him. Merlin curses the day he was born, and clings to her. Whispers sorry against her tear stained cheek until he is hoarse. Craves to kiss every inch of her. Make her realise that it wasn’t his intent to have done so. In the beginning he had never close to wished her ill.

If she was the evil one, how much better was he, really?

 

4\. She still won’t eat anything he cooks, part on principle and part of it is genuine fear hidden behind snark about his inability to even make porridge correctly. Or so she says. He makes it just like his mother always did... She doesn’t stay, either, but comes and goes like the moon. Whimsical. Uncertain. Flitting around his house like the faery everyone has claimed she always was for oh so long now. He grows used to the smell of her hair, vanilla and lavender. The sight of her sleeping on his sofa, and eventually, three years after Australia, on his bed. They’ve said their apologies and raged and fought and forgiven. She loves him. In some way, though she will not say it. Perhaps she always did. She lines his house with chocolates when she’s happy, and when she’s not... she’s gone, and he cannot find her no matter where he seeks. They both ache.

She laughs when she finds him freshly washed, naked, on his bed. Tim tams arranged in a heart on his chest. Those, she eats. Nipping and licking his skin clean as she goes.

 

5\. She no longer leaves him. The summer sun is warm on their skin and they sleep, her restlessly like she once had. Arthur is coming back. There will be no real rest when he does. He smooths his fingers along her brow, willing the gods to take pity though they never will. He reads books to her when she’s too afraid to sleep and cradles her in his arms when she wakes screaming. Kisses away her fears, promises it will be better this time and thinks all the while ‘ _I was made to love you.’_ and gives her another chocolate biscuit, and licks the mess she makes off her lips when she once again leaves the tim tam too long in her hot chocolate.


End file.
